‘P. G. Wodehouse was born on 15 October 1881, at 1 Vale Place, Epsom Road Guildford in Guildford’ begins Frances Donaldson in her 1982 Authorized Biography, summing the matter up rather neatly. The house in Surrey was not the Wodehouse’s home; the family lived in Hong Kong, where P.G.’s father Henry Wodehouse was a magistrate in the Colonial Civil Service. His mother Eleanor was visiting England, staying with her sister in the neighbouring village of Bramley. Eleanor was visiting friends in Epsom Road when out popped the infant Plum (see*). Nonetheless, the house is remembered with a blue plaque over the door. You can read about my visit there in ‘The Wodehouse Trail: Birth’.
To commemorate P.G. Wodehouse’s birthday, tomorrow I will be picking up the trail with a visit to his first home, and I look forward to sharing that adventure…
The world is inhabited by two kinds of people – those who have come to depend upon a tissue restorative of some kind and others who chug along their lives in a perfectly sober state of mind. However, a vast majority keeps shifting its loyalties between the two kinds, keeping an age-old question alive and ticking – to drink or not to drink!
Here is a tipsy post from the inimitable Honoria which you might relish.
Hic, hic, hurray!
‘There are moments when one needs a drink. Are there moments, indeed, when one doesn’t?’
So says Mervyn Potter, the Hollywood heart-throb, who leads poor Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps astray in Barmy in Wonderland (1952). But before you start quoting these sentiments as the views of the author himself, have look at what happens to the frequently pie-eyed Mervyn.
In Chapter One, he gets blotto, burns down a hotel bungalow, and induces Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps (a hotel employee) to slip a frog into his employer’s bedroom. In Chapter Five, Mervyn is already soaked when Barmy arrives at his house (for a dinner he never gets).
It was plain to him that the other, fatigued no doubt after a long day’s rehearsal, had yielded to the dictates of his lower self and for some considerable time must have been mopping up the stuff like a vacuum cleaner. If not actually ossified, he was…
Every dog has his day. Well, on the occasion of Dogs’ Day, it is time to pay a tribute to some characters of the canine kind who regale us with their antics in Plumsville.
Their roles are not confined to the traditional kind which involve hunting, herding or pulling loads. They are never a part of a paw patrol handled by a rozzer. Instead, they have a healthy contempt for those in the uniform. They may not be indefatigable detectives out to assist a Sherlock Holmes in sniffing out crucial leads in a mysterious murder case, but they shape the love affairs of quite a few young men who wear their hearts on their sleeves.
In Plumsville, they enjoy motherly affections of the delicately nurtured. Their misdemeanors are overlooked. Their acts of omission are energetically defended, annoying the officers of the law. If taken into custody, prompt steps are taken through the proper channels to get them extracted. They display unbounded joy and affection to the owners of trousers which happen to be liberally sprinkled with aniseed.
Here are some examples of characters of the canine kind we come across while navigating the humorously sun-lit lands of Plumsville.
Sam Goldwyn
We meet Sam Goldwyn in ‘The Mating Season’. Owned by Corky, he is a shaggy dog of mixed parentage. He is no beauty-prize winner and conceives a burning passion for the company of Bertie Wooster. He is also adept at biting those who exude authority. At Deverille Hall, Uncle Charlie becomes his first victim. Police Constable Dobbs happens to be the next one. He takes Sam into custody. Corky charms Gussie Fink-Nottle into extracting Sam Goldwyn. The reunion is beautifully described as follows:
“The baying and the patter of the feet grew louder and suddenly out of the darkness Sam Goldwyn clocked in, coming along at a high rate of speed and showing plainly in his manner how keenly he appreciated the termination of the sedentary life he had been leading these last days. He looked good for about another fifty miles at the same pace, but the sight of us gave him pause. He stopped, looked and listened. Then, as our familiar odour reached his nostrils, he threw his whole soul into a cry of ecstasy. He bounded at Jeeves as if contemplating licking his face, but was checked by the latter’s quiet dignity. Jeeves views the animal kingdom with a benevolent eye and is the first to pat its head and offer it a slice of whatever is going, but he does not permit it to lick his face.”
McIntosh
McIntosh is an Aberdeen terrier of weak intellect. We meet him in one of the stories appearing in ‘Very Good, Jeeves’. He belongs to Aunt Agatha who has left him in Bertie’s charge while she goes off to Aix-les-Bains to take the cure. Bobbie Wickham gives McIntosh off to the kid Blumenfeld who has developed a liking for it.
Jeeves comes up with a rescue plan, persuading Bertie to sprinkle his trousers with aniseed which is extensively used in the dog-stealing industry. Bertie visits the hotel suite where McIntosh is holed up. As Bobbie Wickham leaves the suite, McIntosh bounds out, sniffing passionately, drinking Bertie in with every evidence of enjoyment. Bertie returns to his abode with McIntosh in tow. A successful mission thus gets accomplished, saving Bertie from incurring the wrath of Aunt Agatha.
To ensure that Bobbie Wickham’s relations with senior Blumenfeld do not get jeopardized, Jeeves buys another look-alike Aberdeen from a shop in Bond Street and hands it over to him.
Poppet
‘Jeeves in the Offing’ introduces us to the dachshund Poppet who charges at people with the apparent intention of seeing the color of their insides. Closer to destination, though, he merely rises like a rocket and licks people on the chin.
The scene under reference gets played out by the side of a lake where the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, his step-daughter Phyllis, Bobbie Wickham, Wilbert Cream, Kipper and Bertie Wooster have gathered. As per plans, Bertie is to shove Upjohn into the water, followed by Kipper diving in and saving him. This, it is hoped, would improve the chances of Kipper persuading Upjohn to withdraw the libel case he is planning in connection with a derogatory review Kipper has written of an article of his.
As luck would have it, Poppet charges abruptly at Augustus, an easy-going cat which has curled up into a ball and resumed his afternoon siesta. Poppet’s plunge – with his tail straight up at right angles to the parent body, ears turned inside out, barking merrily – jolts Augustus no end. In the ensuing scuffle, Poppet lands up in the lake, accompanied by Bertie. Wilbert dives in, seizes the hound by the scruff of the neck, and tows Poppet at a brisk pace to the shore. Kipper’s mission fails.
Poppet could as well have got ashore perfectly well under his own steam, but Phyllis believes Wilbert Cream rescued her dachshund from a watery grave. As a result, she announces her engagement to Wilbert Cream.
Buster
A bull terrier kind dog by the name of Buster comes along in ‘The Girl in Blue’. He is a pet of Marlene Hibbs and ends up biting Constable Simms whose bicycle is used by Chippendale to impart driving lessons to Marlene.
When she points out that every dog is allowed a first bite by law, Simms says that if this were to happen again, he would prosecute it with the utmost severity. Chippendale finds her in tears near the village pump and has to stand her a strawberry ice cream before he can bring the roses back to her cheeks.
By way of a protest against his high-handedness, Chippendale eventually gets Simms pushed into a river, with the latter’s body as well as ego getting soaked to the gills.
Bartholomew
In ‘The Code of the Woosters’, we come across Bartholomew, a pet of Stiffy’s. An Aberdeen terrier, he is to be watched closely if he gets near anyone’s ankles, “for he biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder”.
In the scene under reference, we find him all whiskers and eyebrows, silently and earnestly following Constable Oates who is quietly enjoying a bicycle ride with his hands off the handle. A mere connect with the ankle bone and the officer of the law falls into a ditch.
This is how the scene unfolds:
“One moment he was with us, all merry and bright; the next he was in the ditch, a sort of ‘macedoine’ of arms and legs and wheels, with the terrier standing on the edge, looking down at him with that rather offensive expression of virtuous smugness which I have often noticed on the faces of Aberdeen terriers in their clashes with humanity.”
Stiffy, true to form, defends Bartholomew. By way of revenge, she starts making plans to get Oates’ helmet pinched.
Bartholomew also puts in an appearance in ‘Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves’. He drives Bertie and Pop Bassett to the top of a large chest of drawers. Bertie finds himself gazing into the eyes of the animal, which looks at him with a sinister intentness characteristic of the breed. Bartholomew also bares his teeth which happen to be in excellent shape, thereby reminding Bertie of his tendency to bite first and ask questions afterwards.
Since Scotties have short legs, a series of energetic springs do not yield any constructive result. Poor Bartholomew has to remain content merely with dirty looks and sharp, passionate barks. Eventually, Stiffy walks in and removes him from the scene, providing much-needed succor to Bertie and Pop Bassett.
Of Dog Fights and Toto
In ‘The Adventures of Sally’, a poodle of military aspect wanders up to Sally at a French seaside resort. Discovering that Sally is in possession of a box of sweets, the poodle decides to stick around and await developments. Soon, a white terrier with a black patch on its left eye also joins in. A little later, a group of expectant dogs assembles. This is followed by an intense dog fight which scares off Sally.
This is how the dog fight gets commented upon: “There is about any dog fight a wild, gusty fury which affects the average mortal with something of the helplessness induced by some vast clashing of the elements. It seems so outside one’s jurisdiction. One is oppressed with a sense of the futility of interference.”
However, Ginger does decide to interfere. He does so successfully, much to the relief of Sally.
Later in the narrative, we meet Toto, a small woolly animal with a persistent and penetrating yap. Toto likes a cracker after breakfast. Judicious dieting indeed perks him up. He goes on to play an important role in the lives of Sally and Ginger.
When it comes to etching out characters, P G Wodehouse is an acknowledged genius. His expertise in this realm is not restricted to human beings alone. It covers pigs, cats, swans and dogs as well. ‘St. Bernard dogs doing the square thing by Alpine travelers’ is another expression which finds frequent mention in his narratives!
New Wodehouse readers sometimes ask which of the Jeeves stories they should read first. Opinion on the matter seems to be divided into two camps; many people recommend ‘Carry On, Jeeves’, whereas I usually suggest ‘The Inimitable Jeeves’ (1923). Both are excellent. The difficulty is a matter of chronology.
Today’s writers and publishers make it easy for readers to progress from ‘book one’ of a series in a logical and predictable manner, through its various instalments, to the series conclusion. Many modern series are well planned in advance. Others feature recurring characters in separate stories (crime fiction leaps to mind) which can be read in any order, although the chronologically-inclined reader can read them in order of publication to avoid ‘spoilers’. And modern readers are so accustomed to ‘the novel’ that it’s the only form of fiction most of us ever read.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been sharing the favourite authors of Wodehouse lovers in the ‘Fans of P G Wodehouse’ Facebook community. This final instalment lists the 50 most popular writers listed during our discussion of the topic. Many of these writers were equally popular, and the order in which they are listed here should not be considered proof of their relative popularity. I share them, imperfectly ranked as they are, in the interests of helping like-minded readers who may be looking for ‘new’ authors to try.
Here is yet another post which would be of interest to those who survive on their daily dose of quality reading. ‘The Guide’ and ‘Malgudi Days’ of R K Narayan happen to be my favorites!
In my last piece, I revealed the top top five authors Wodehouse lovers in the ‘Fans of P G Wodehouse’ Facebook community named as their favourites (when not reading Wodehouse). No doubt you’re itching to know who else our Plum chums love to read, so I’m here to share the next five most popular authors named. As these five were almost equally popular, I’ve listed them chronologically.
Charles Dickens (b. 1812)
‘She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her ‘Ode to an Expiring Frog,’ sir.” ‘
Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers
Dickens has both fans and detractors among our Wodehouse loving fraternity. As someone who reads for escapist pleasure, I sympathise with those who avoid Dickens. It seems Wodehouse was…
“Oh, yes! I thought it was much better than Severed Throats.”
“So did I,” said Cyril. “Much better. Brighter murders, subtler detectives, crisper clues … better in every way.”
The two twin souls gazed into each other’s eyes. There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.
P G Wodehouse (‘Strychnine in the Soup’ in Mulliner Nights)
I recently asked the ‘Fans of P G Wodehouse’ Facebook community about their favourite authors – who they like to read when not curled up with Plum’s latest. The response was a staggering 370 comments (and counting) listing over 250 different authors. I’ve collated the replies and can now reveal the top 50 authors these Wodehouse lovers named as…
The delicately nurtured amongst us occasionally bemoan the way they have been treated by the Master Wordsmith of our times – P G Wodehouse. Admittedly, his narratives are replete with somewhat jaundiced references to the fairer sex. We could readily jump to the conclusion that his works have been written only for an exclusive boys’ club.
Consider these samples from ‘Jeeves in the Offing’:
Sample 1:
‘It just shows you what women are like. A frightful sex, Bertie. There ought to be a law. I hope to live to see the day when women are no longer allowed.’ ‘That would rather put a stopper on keeping the human race going, wouldn’t it?’ ‘Well, who wants to keep the human race going?’ ‘I see what you mean. Yes, something in that, of course.’
Sample 2:
‘Why? You were crazy about the girl once.’ ‘But no longer. The fever has passed, the scales have fallen from my eyes, and we’re just good friends. The snag in this business of falling in love, aged relative, is that the parties of the first part so often get mixed up with the wrong parties of the second part, robbed of their cooler judgment by the parties of the second part’s glamour. Put it like this. The male sex is divided into rabbits and non-rabbits and the female sex into dashers and dormice, and the trouble is that the male rabbit has a way of getting attracted by a female dasher (who would be fine for the male non-rabbit) and realizing too late that he ought to have been concentrating on some mild, gentle dormouse with whom he could settle down peacefully and nibble lettuce.’
Sample 3:
‘Well, let me tell you, Jeeves, and you can paste this in your hat, shapeliness isn’t everything in this world. In fact, it sometimes seems to me that the more curved and lissome the members of the opposite sex, the more likely they are to set Hell’s foundations quivering.’
Sample 4:
Of course, there are several others, liberally embedded in most of his works. Consider this one from the story, ‘Jeeves and the Kid Clementina.’
‘I was suffering from a considerable strain of the old nerves at the moment, of course, and, looking back, it may be that I was too harsh; but the way I felt in that dark, roosting hour was that you can say what you like, but the more a thoughtful man has to do with women, the more extraordinary it seems to him that such a sex should be allowed to clutter up the earth.’
Going through stuff such as this, any self-respecting woman is likely to get offended. Hate at first sight would ensue. The inevitable conclusion would be that the author does not treat women characters with the respect they deserve.
The Soft Power
My proposition is that this is a rather superficial view. Scratch below the surface of any weird happening in Plumsville and we are bound to find that women rule the roost. They exercise tremendous power of a soft kind on the hapless men who happen to be either the victims of Cupid’s machinations, or just aspire to be preux chevaliers.
We run into dominating aunts and overbearing sisters and secretaries. We meet goofy spinsters and intellectually ambitious amazons. We come across assertive authors and meek scullery maids. In Plumsville, women invariably hold all the aces. They simple deserve to be there, because, compared to their men counterparts, they are smarter.
On the other hand, men happen to be rather docile. They remain contented with being a putty in the hands of those they are trying to woo. They happen to be chivalrous and would go to any length to retain the women’s affections and deepen their romantic bonds. The women merely need to snap their fingers and the men would simply rush into the battlefield, much like knights in shining armors would have done in the days of yore. They need to win the approval of their love interest at any cost.
In most of the narratives, the menfolk in Plumsville do not hesitate to fulfill even the most weird – and sometimes patently goofy – wishes of the loves of their lives. They also have their codes to follow. Standing up to their genial but scheming aunts and sisters does not come easy to them.
Here is a quick recap of the diverse kinds of women we get introduced to.
The Stiff-Upper-Lip Aunts and Sisters
Much against his better judgement, Bertie Wooster is prodded by Aunt Dahlia to purloin a silver cow creamer (‘The Code of the Woosters’). In another narrative (‘Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen’), he is hounded by the aged relative to first steal and then restore a cat whose absence would ensure that the local races are lost by the rival party’s horse.
Elsewhere, Lord Marshmoreton has to muster all his courage to stand up to his sister, Lady Caroline Byng, and declare a matrimonial alliance with his newly appointed secretary (‘A Damsel in Distress’).
The Reformers
We get to meet Vanessa Cook in ‘Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen’. She announces her marriage to Bertie, leaving him thoroughly shaken in limb and spirit. Post-marriage, no Drones Club, no alcohol and no smoking. The last one is thanks to Tolstoy, who has apparently held that twirling one’s fingers gives as much joy as smoking!
The Overbearing Ones
A desperate lover in Gussie Fink-Nottle, enamoured by Madeline Bassett, has to lay off all the vitamins of animal origin. The poor guy has to skip Anatole’s lavish spreads and survive only on spinach, sprouts, broccoli and similar stuff (Right Ho, Jeeves).
Stiffy Byng’s map, as a rule, tends to be rather grave and dreamy, giving the impression that she is thinking deep, beautiful thoughts. Quite misleading, of course. Harold Pinker, a vicar, gets prodded by her to pinch a policeman’s helmet, braving the risk of being defrocked (‘The Code of the Woosters’).
Pauline Stoker expects her beau to swim a mile before breakfast and then proceed to play five sets of tennis post-lunch. Her soul mate has to be someone like Chuffy who is adept at riding, shooting and following foxes with loud cries. Generally speaking, someone on the dynamic side (‘Thank You, Jeeves’).
Taking Men for Granted
Bertie is persuaded by Roberta Wickham to puncture hot water bottles in the middle of the night. In ‘Jeeves in the Offing’, he is even declared to be engaged to her. She does it only to ensure that her parents may then view her intended alliance with Reginald Herring in a favorable light.
Nobby charms Bertie into abusing an uncle so Boko, the out-of-favor lover, may earn some brownie points and thereby win her hand. Somehow, his guardian angel ensures his not being able to do so. (‘Joy in the Morning’).
The Sculptors of Intellect
Florence Craye tries to mould the men she falls for. She treats males like a mere chunk of plasticine in the hands of a sculptor. She is one of those intellectual girls. Her manner is brisk and aunt-like. Expecting Bertie to go through ‘Types of Ethical Theory’ comes naturally to her (‘Joy in the Morning’).
Vanessa Cook (‘Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen’) does not expect Bertie to start improving his intellect by reading Turgenev and Dostoyevsky. She merely expects him to go through ‘The Prose Ramblings Of A Rhymester’, a collection of whimsical essays by Reginald Sprockett, a brilliant young poet from whom the critics expect great things.
The Charmers
Miss Dalgleish is fond of dogs. She has caught Tuppy on a rebound just after a break-up between him and Angela. She is a largish, corn-fed girl, who wears tailor-made tweeds and thick boots. She has charmed Tuppy into playing football for the village of Upper Bleaching, a grave risk for someone who is born and bred in the gentler atmosphere of London. On the day of the match, Tuppy risks life and limb, only to please her. However, she is not present to witness the bravado. Instead, she goes off to London, trying to lay her hands on an Irish water-spaniel (‘The Ordeal of Young Tuppy – Very Good, Jeeves!’).
The Feisty Ones
Joan Valentine (‘Something Fresh’) comes across as a delightful example of an independent woman who knows her mind and lives life on her own terms. She is a girl of action. She is one whom Life has made not only reckless, when a venture is afoot, but also wary of friendly advances. Stealing a scarab is a venture that interests her. She detests getting a soft treatment at the hands of the sterner sex. To quote her:
‘You look on woman as a weak creature to be shielded and petted. We aren’t anything of the sort. We’re terrors. We’re as hard as nails. We’re awful creatures. You mustn’t let my sex interfere with your trying to get this reward.’
The Soft-natured Ones
It is not that we do not get introduced to soft-natured women in Plumsville.
The Soothing Motherly Kind
In ‘Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves’, we meet Emerald Stoker who is one of those soothing, sympathetic girls you can take your troubles to, confident of having your hand held and your head patted. There is a sort of motherliness about her which you find restful. But she does not borrow money. Much too proud. Having lost money at the races, she decides to supplement her income by assuming the post of a cook at Totleigh Towers.
The Peace-Loving Kind
In ‘Ring for Jeeves’, we come across the gentle Jill. Wodehouse’s description of her rushing to the aid of her lover, despite having broken the engagement owing to a misunderstanding on her part, is lovingly captured as under:
‘It is a characteristic of women as a sex, and one that does credit to their gentle hearts, that – unless they are gangsters’ molls or something of that kind – they shrink from the thought of violence. Even when love is dead, they dislike the idea of the man to whom they were once betrothed receiving a series of juicy ones from a horse whip in the competent hands of an elderly, but still muscular, chief constable of a county. When they hear such a chief constable sketching out plans for an operation of this nature, their instinct is to hurry to the prospective victim’s residence and warn him of his peril by outlining the shape of things to come.’
The True Romantics
In the same narrative, we get to meet Captain Biggar who believes in following the code that says a poor man must not propose marriage to a rich woman, for if he does, he loses his self-respect and ceases to play with a straight bat.
He is in love with Mrs Spottsworth who is a strong believer in rebirths. She sees themselves in some dim, prehistoric age. In this previous existence, they were clad in skins. Captain had hit her over the head with a club and dragged her by her hair to his cave. A true romantic at heart!
The Fitness Buffs
Then we have Maud (‘A Damsel in Distress’) who hates obesity. After giving the poor George Bevan a short shrift and making him plan to depart for USA, she realizes that her infatuation with Geoffrey Raymond was, well, a mere infatuation. She loses no time in changing her mind and starts discussing her post-matrimonial plans with George over telephone.
The Efficient Secretaries
In the same narrative, Alice Faraday happens to be a secretary of gentle persuasion. She is keen to do enough work to merit her generous salary. However, Lord Marshmoreton’s love for gardening comes in the way of his working on the Family History.
One could go on and on. One thing is clear, though. In Plumsville, we get to meet women of all ages, sizes, shapes and classes. Invariably, they end up taking a saunter down the aisle with the men of their dreams. But the choice is invariably theirs.
Grant them their moodiness, though. They could have transient rifts, triggered by sharks, mustaches or hats. In the end, however, sundered hearts invariably get united.
Much too often, the so-called sterner sex ends up being the weaker sex. More to be pitied than to be censured!
In Plumtopia, a treasure trove of Wodehouse related matters, there is a great post on women. The author concludes as follows:
“In Wodehouse’s art, as in life, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This puts him above most writers I know, male or female, who rarely take the trouble to create ‘unattractive’ female characters, let alone make them central figures in romance. Of course Wodehouse offers plenty of attractive women too.
All this makes Wodehouse a terrific writer of, and for, women (Terry Pratchett is another) and it’s hardly surprising to learn that he has a large and enthusiastic female following. His fans include Dr Sophie Ratcliffe from the University of Oxford, who edited P. G. Wodehouse: A life in Letters.”
Occasionally, we get to meet professional women as well, though mostly as authors, editors and headmistresses. Had Wodehouse lived in today’s age and times when women have broken through the glass ceiling in diverse fields of life, we would have had the pleasure of curling up in bed with one of his inimitable works which might have offered a ringside view of more career-oriented women.
(Notes:
Those of you who wish to look up a scintillating piece on the subject of Wodehouse and Feminism may like to check out this one from Elin Woodger, an eminent expert on Plummy affairs: http://www.wodehouse.org/extra/PL/PL_v37_nr3.pdf.
The management issues R K Laxman touches upon in his witty cartoons are wide-ranging. The messages are hard-hitting. For any manager who is trying to beat the blues, here is an effective anti-dote.
Driving the Boss Nuts
The perils of over-committing oneself
Punctuality
Caught reading naughty magazines in office?
Simplifying systems and procedures
A manager’s life never has a dull moment. His/her career is like driving a crazy car which is always going either too fast or too slow. From the time a manager enters the n-dimensional space of his/her career space, till the time the boots/sandals are hung right and proper, a roller-coaster ride with uncertain twists and turns is the only certainty.
To maintain one’s sanity, it helps to revisit the works of literary geniuses who have created an eternal world full of blooming flowers bathed in the soft glow of humor. For those amongst us who are fond of books, P G Wodehouse and Terry Pratchett are there to help us. If we happen to like cartoons, Dilbert, Mario Miranda and R K Laxman are there to becalm our agitated minds!
(Illustrations from: ‘The Management of Management’ by R K Laxman, ISBN 81-7094-497-X)
In quite a few memoirs of Bertie Wooster and Jeeves, we are treated to an exquisite insight into the way the long arm of the law works.
One is not referring here to the stern looking beaks who sit in a Court of Law, eyeing Bertie Wooster or any of his friends censoriously over their well-polished pince-nez while dishing out sentences without the option.
Instead, one alludes here to the humble constabulary which ensures that the laws in force are rigorously implemented without a flaw on their personal reputation and character. While tracking down criminals, they spare no effort. It is their upright and proper conduct which upholds the might of the Law. They are invariably meticulous in their approach. They show due respect to the gentler sex, unless they have direct evidence to the contrary. Even defaulters of the canine kind do not escape their fury.
When it comes to Plumsville, they play pivotal roles in many a narrative. Here are some which readily spring to one’s mind.
Laying off the Vitamins
In The Mating Season, we get introduced to constable Ernest Dobbs who is a sleepless guardian of the peace of King’s Deverill. His face looks as if it has been carved out of some hard kind of wood by a sculptor who had studied at a correspondence school and had never progressed beyond lesson three.
In the discharge of his duties he does not hesitate to arrest dogs like Sam Goldwyn who lose no opportunity of sniping at him and are a menace to society in general. Just before he can catch Gussie Fink-Nottle who has set Sam free from custody, Jeeves coshes him, making him feel as if he has been struck by a thunderbolt. This somehow changes his spiritual outlook on life.
When he comes calling later at Deverill Hall on an unpleasant errand – to arrest Gussie who is impersonating as Bertie – he first asks Rev. Sidney Pirbright if he can start singing in the village choir. In turn this leads to the romantic rift between him and the maid Queenie getting healed. A kissing scene follows, and the cop is quick to apologize for his naked display of emotion. He then proceeds to decline a sandwich or two, because he believes that when a policeman is on an unpleasant errand, he is expected to lay off the vitamins.
Jeeves gives Gussie an alibi, making Catsmeat take the rap instead in the crime of having abstracted a property of the Crown – to wit, a dog. As luck would have it, Catsmeat happens to be the would-be brother-in-law of Esmond Haddock, the local Justice of Peace. Haddock loses no time in telling Dobbs how slender the evidence against Catsmeat happens to be.
A country policeman surely knows what happens when you get in wrong with Justices of Peace. Also, being in love himself, he is gently persuaded not to throw a spanner in the happiness works of Catsmeat and Gertrude. He allows himself to be dismissed without a stain on his character. Once off duty, he promptly proceeds to the kitchen, so as to resume his romantic parley with Queenie.
No Listening to the Derby
Ring for Jeeves brings in an elderly Colonel Aubrey Wyvern, Chief Constable of the County of Southmoltonshire. His daughter Jill is affianced to Bill, the ninth Earl of Rowcester. He is short and stout and is none too happy about the quality of butlers and cooks these days. He is called upon to solve the mystery of the missing pendant of Mrs Spottsworth, a guest at Rowcester.
While conducting his investigation, he declines to listen to the Derby on the radio, lest it interfere with his work. The main suspect happens to be Captain Biggar who happens to have merely ‘borrowed’ it for a day, as security for a gamble but then eventually decided not to do so. The pendant gets duly ‘discovered’, thereby rendering his investigation null and void.
Once Jill is heart-broken, having found Lord Rowcester (Bill) coming out of Mrs Spottsworth’s room at two o’ clock in the morning in mauve pyjamas. The Chief Constable decides to whip Bill for his misdemeanors. Upon finding his own horse whip missing, he decides to walk over to Rowcester Abbey and borrow Bill’s own whip so as to complete his mission! Luckily for Bill, by the time he arrives, Jill realizes her mistake and the lovers have already reunited.
Prowling in the Rain
In The Code of the Woosters, we get to meet Eustace Oates. He has his own methods when it comes to solving crimes. First thing, he tries to unravel the motive. He then finds out who had the opportunity of committing the crime under investigation. Once he has a list of suspects, he starts looking for clues.
When it comes to his own helmet getting pinched, suspect number one happens to be Stephanie Byng who believes her dog Bartholomew has been teased by the constable. The helmet eventually gets traced in a flower bed below Bertie Wooster’s window. In order to ensure that he does not escape the premises, the constable is made to keep patrolling below the window.
Eventually, thanks to the magic of the word ‘Eulalie’, Jeeves persuades Roderick Spode to take the rap instead. Even though Bertie is off the hook, Sir Watkyn Bassett forgets to ask Oates to stop his vigil. Thus, the poor constable continues to prowl in the rain, providing Bertie with a curiously mellowing sense of happiness.
Resigning in the Face of Fraud
Joy in the Morning has Stilton Cheesewright playing the vigilant guardian of the peace. He is not one of our eight-hour slumberers. He is always up and doing, working while others sleep. He believes that Bertie is out to outmaneuver him when it comes to winning the affections of the star male-reformer Florence Craye.
Bertie is accused of pinching his uniform so as to be able to participate in a fancy dress ball. Uncle Percy, the Justice of Peace, needs Bertie’s support in standing up to his formidable spouse (Aunt Agatha, who else!) to provide an alibi for him to have spent a night away from his living quarters at Steeple Bumpleigh. Jeeves lays the blame instead at the doorstep of Master Edwin who has a motive in Bertie in taking the rap.
Uncle Percy refuses to sign the warrant against Bertie. In fact, he goes a step further in ticking off the cop. He laments a deplorable spirit creeping into the Force – that of forgetting their sacred obligations and bringing up wild and irresponsible accusations in a selfish desire to secure promotion.
This revolting exhibition of fraud and skullduggery makes Stilton decide to resign from the Force, thereby restoring the romantic relations between him and Florence. As a result, Bertie yet again escapes the prospect of a saunter down the aisle and returns to the metropolis a free bird.
The Hell-hound of the Law
Jeeves and the Kid Clementina (Very Good, Jeeves) introduces us to a cop who creeps behind Bertie Wooster just when he is perched on a tree and is planning to drop a flower plot through the roof of the green-house of a convent presided over by Miss Mapleton, the female lion-tamer. Roberta Wickham had suggested this diversionary tactic so that her cousin Clementina, who was A.W.O.L. from her school, could ooze back unnoticed into the premises.
Thanks to Jeeves, the constable is ticked off by Miss Mapleton for having bungled the courageous attempts of Bertie to ward off some imaginary miscreants by climbing onto the tree. When the flower-pot does fall through, he is promptly dismissed and packed off on his errand of duty so he has another opportunity to justify his existence. This way, the rates and taxes paid by the common public do not get squandered.
In Plumsville, the cops are not expected to resolve the kind of crimes which might make the Scotland Yard interested in their investigative skills. When pitted against the inimitable Jeeves, the hapless rozzers have a slim chance of cracking a case. Even if they happen to do so, their paths are strewn with Justices of Peace who have ideas of their own.
Nevertheless, they continue to regale us with their exploits. Their integrity is indeed praiseworthy. Come rain or sunshine, they perform their duties with utmost dedication. Romance might sway them somewhat at times but never does it detract them from their duties. Nor do ham sandwiches. Derby is not of much interest to them. Even if an offence has been committed by a canine of an unfavorable disposition towards the men of the Force, they do not hesitate to work with exemplary diligence.
Generally, what they lack in height is more than compensated by their rotundity. A stern gaze and an authoritative demeanor is their hallmark. Their ‘Ho!’s, ‘Ha!’s and snorts often carry a sinister ring, making an ordinary citizen shuffle his feet and feel diffident. To the bold and the beautiful amongst the citizenry, their shining helmets provide an allure which is often irresistible.
The thoroughness with which the gendarme get portrayed is typical of the manner in which P G Wodehouse etches out his characters from diverse fields of life. Through the conduct of the Justices of Peace, he brings out the eccentricities of the upper echelons of the social order of his times.
Wodehouse’s birthplace, 59 Epsom Rd Guildford !["BarmyInWonderland" by http://www.facsimiledustjackets.com/cgi-bin/fdj455/2890.html. Licensed under Fair use of copyrighted material in the context of Barmy in Wonderland via Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:BarmyInWonderland.jpg#mediaviewer/File:BarmyInWonderland.jpg](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/ad/BarmyInWonderland.jpg ""BarmyInWonderland" by http://www.facsimiledustjackets.com/cgi-bin/fdj455/2890.html. Licensed under Fair use of copyrighted material in the context of Barmy in Wonderland via Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:BarmyInWonderland.jpg#mediaviewer/File:BarmyInWonderland.jpg")
ervyn Potter, the Hollywood heart-throb, who leads poor Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps astray in Barmy in Wonderland (1952). But before you start quoting these sentiments as the views of the author himself, have look at what happens to the frequently pie-eyed Mervyn.
